Project Redemption
by Night Dawn
Summary: AU epilogue: When a drunk Draco Malfoy stumbles into Hermione's flat at two in the morning, nothing will ever be the same.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter **

Prologue

It's two a.m. in the morning when she runs to get the door, and it swings open to reveal a staggering Draco, beer bottle in hand. His state of dress, or undress, is obvious as he stumbles into her flat and collapses on the couch.

"My head hurts so badly," he moans.

"Where the hell is your shirt?" Hermione demands at the same time.

They stare at each other, both equally confused, but then Draco breaks the spell by shrugging. "At least I still have my pants and my cloak," he slurs, in a misguided attempt at humour.

It doesn't work.

Because although her brain is still hazy from sleep, and her thoughts still foggy, Hermione manages to recognize that while he and Harry might have come to an understanding, no way in hell is Draco Malfoy invited to her flat.

"This is ridiculous," she snaps. "Are you crazy? What did you come here for? And where did you get my address anyway?"

Draco grins uneasily.

Hermione is half in mind to throw him out, but her neighbours probably wouldn't appreciate it. And to tell the truth, she's sort of curious as to what has transpired. And to tell the whole, unedited version of the truth, his abs are also rather impressive. Draco has a seeker's build, slender and wiry, but muscular, and it shows.

It's funny how someone can be utterly despicable and completely gorgeous at the same time.

She crosses her arms.

"Ah," Draco says in reply, still clutching his head. "To answer your questions, I have been deemed perfectly sane by experts. I'm here on pure whim, though the amount of liquor I've consumed might also have a say. And I got your address from Potter, a while ago actually. Hmm, it's actually weird that I remember it."

He tilts his head, and several platinum blonde strands fall into his eyes. "Oh, I heard that Lovegood is having twins. Congratulate her for me, will you?"

It takes a few seconds for everything to sink in. Hermione evaluates the situation for a moment, mystified at her former enemy's appearance in her flat and disgruntled at being woken up in the middle of the night. Her brain slugs on, taking much longer than normal to process the current state of affairs.

"You visited Harry?" she finally manages to grind out.

Draco shrugs fluidly. "Obviously not now," he intones, "but I spoke to him at the Charity Gala a week ago. He let it slip where your flat was, so clearly, I had to come visit you sometime." He catches her skeptical look and grins. "You can blame Blaise for the drunkenness. He got dumped by his latest girlfriend and needed a guy's night out. Theo said he'd buy the drinks, so I figured I'd go along."

Hermione stares at him incredulously, and tries to take the logical approach. Throwing him out of her flat wouldn't solve anything, especially because he's drunk. "You're crazy," she tells him.

He offers her a lopsided smirk. "Well, I am talking to you, so yes, I guess I am."

She lets out a huff of annoyance at the comment and turns around to make her way down the hall. That box of aspirin sitting on the kitchen counter is starting to sound real inviting, and more sleep is starting to sound like a miracle. Fortunately, tomorrow is Saturday.

Unfortunately, Draco stops her by suddenly getting to his feet.

"You should probably change, you know," he says sagely. "You current attire doesn't leave much to imagination."

Hermione doesn't take the bait. "Then don't look," she shoots back, arms crossed. "You're the one who decided to come at two in the bloody morning."

"Two's a good number," Draco says, with an uncharacteristic grin curling his lips. "Seven's a good number too." He furrows his brow then nods solemnly. "I'll stay until seven. Is the couch free?"

There is a moment of silence, and she spins around, then stares at him, torn between surprise and incredulity. "You're really drunk, aren't you." It's not a question. "And you were lying about Zabini and the pity party. Where did you really go?"

"I went..." It takes him a second more than usual to think up a suitable lie. "I went shopping with Astoria. Woman and any place with clothes, a formidable pair, I tell you."

"No you didn't." Hermione shoots him a sharp look. "You can't fool me, Malfoy. You didn't go shopping at all."

Draco sits back down abruptly. "Can't I?"

"I'll kick you out," she threatens. "In fact, I should've already done that. You're drunk, so I've been easy on you, but your minutes are numbered, let me tell you that."

"Yeah..." He yawns. "Well, I wish you good luck." He sprawls across the couch, and props a pillow behind his head. A second later, his eyes are closed and his breathing is deep.

She doesn't believe for a second that he's asleep. In an instant, with a non-verbal summoning charm, her fingers grasp her wand.

"_Aguamen_-," Hermione starts to say, but she's interrupted by a pale hand knocking her wand out of her hand. It skids across the floor, but neither of them turns to look at it.

"Okay," Draco mutters, sitting up. "I'll tell you. I went to visit someone in Azkaban."

There is silence for a few moments, but she can predict what it is before the whole sentence is even been spoken. "You went to visit your father, didn't you?"

His face tightens visibly. "Yes."

Hermione bites her lip, uncharacteristically awkward, torn between sympathy and righteous satisfaction. Lucius Malfoy is a former Death Eater, with crimes against muggle-borns under his belt, but he's also Draco's father. She's not sure what to think or say in terms of him being judged guilty for crimes of war and sent to Azkaban.

"How was it?" she manages to finally say.

His eyes, luminous in the moonlight, narrow. "It was bad and good, a double edged sword. He was happy to see Mother."

"But unhappy to see you," she guesses.

There is a pause. "He told me to cut all contact with him. He told me to clean up the Malfoy name." His throat bobs. "If not for our money, we'd be outcasts, pariahs, and he wants me to change that."

Hermione presses her lips together. "Pride," she says aloud.

Draco's heavy gaze turns on her. "Yeah, pride."

There is another bout of silence.

"So will you do it?" she questions.

His eyes are silver in the moonlight. "I'll do it."

For a moment, she just studies him, the angle of his chin, the planes of his face, and the shadows under his eyes. They've come a long way from being first years on the train, yet their coexistence is still uneasy.

Voldemort's gone, and soon, muggle-borns and purebloods will be equal. There's no reason to despise each other, she thinks.

And before Hermione can stop herself, she blurts out, "I'll help you."

**This fic's my first attempt at multi-chap. I'm hoping to get some feedback on this, so any reviews, criticism, or whatever is welcome. If it sucks completely, I tried. So yeah. **

**Uh… happy reading. **


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter **

Chapter one

There's a pounding in her head as she wakes up, and her mouth is strangely dry. If Hermione weren't so sure that she'd never knowingly intoxicate herself to the point of a hangover, she'd have thought that she drank last night.

Then again, she might have, because her memory is strangely messed up. It can't possibly be true that Draco Malfoy slept on her couch last night. The war might be over, but they still have their divides, and those divides run deep enough that they don't converse, much less crash at each other's places.

Hermione purses her lips, doubtful of both possibilities. Then, making up her mind, she throws off the cream covers. The whole situation is improbable, but she still has to check how valid her memory is. She's never known her brain to be faulty before, but there is a first time for everything.

Easing herself out of the bed, she stands up.

The morning air is cold as it hits her bare legs. Summer has come and gone, paving the path to autumn, and as if signaling this, the curtains billow out with the cool breeze, sending a draft of cold air into the room.

She spares a quick glance out the window, in a convenient moment as the thin cloth is blown aside. Muggle London is well into the morning, with cars crowding the streets and the occasional person on the sidewalk. Hermione estimates it to be about nine in the morning, well after the usual time she wakes up.

Shaking her head of intruding thoughts, she drapes a robe over her shoulders, and then walks briskly toward the living room to check her theory.

The couch is empty.

The first thoughts that run through her head are confusion and disconnection. A second later, she catches herself, and glances around her flat to confirm. Everything seems to be in order, with the books lined neatly on the shelf and the beanbag chair lying peacefully beside it.

Nothing happened. Draco Malfoy never slept on her couch.

She can't decide if the feeling that bubbles at the back of her mind is relief or disappointment. It doesn't matter.

Hermione throws the robe onto the black leather sofa and makes her way toward the kitchen for a quick breakfast, when a note stuck on the refrigerator with the Sydney Opera House magnet catches her attention.

And before her brain can protest to the risks of opening something without scanning it for dark spells first, her fingers have already grasped the parchment.

She unfolds it with shaky hands. Her eyes scan it at a million miles a minute, and even though she memorized it the first time through, she reads it again and again and again.

_Granger,_

_I apologize._

_-DM_

It's a testament to her control that she doesn't throw a tantrum on how cryptic it is as soon as she puts it down.

"Bloody Slytherins."

** -:-**

"Lavender was at the Burrow for dinner last night," Ginny remarks casually while browsing through a rack of short dresses. Her fingers linger on a bright red cocktail dress, and she takes the hanger off, head tilted with indecision.

"Lavender was there?" Hermione asks over the pile of dresses in her arms. "What was she doing?"

Ginny shrugs lightly, then throws the dress with the rest of them that Hermione holds, almost hitting her in the face. "I don't know," she answers.

She returns back to the rack, and weeds out a pale purple number with a conservative neckline. The back isn't so conservative though, with its transparent cloth. Ginny frowns at it, and then puts it back.

"Was she there for Ron?" Hermione persists, unwilling to give up on finding information on her current boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend.

She's not sure whether to worry or not.

Lavender and Ron were once together, but according to Ginny, the former is with Michael Corner now. Lavender isn't underhand enough to cheat on someone with a taken man, is she?

"I don't know." Ginny pauses for a moment, then meets Hermione's gaze squarely. "Shouldn't you know?"

"Well I don't."

"And that's a problem," Ginny murmurs, snatching a long, black mermaid gown off the rack. She evaluates it quickly, and nods in satisfaction. "I think we have enough," she says, going back to dress shopping. "Let's go try them on."

Hermione trails after her as they walk toward the back of the store, the gears in her mind still turning. She doesn't see Ron so much these days, while he's busy with all the auror stuff. He and Harry are living the dream, so she doesn't find the need to interfere. Still, if Ginny thinks that it's a problem that they don't know what the other does all day, maybe it is.

She once read that communication is a key part of a relationship. Perhaps they're lacking something here.

"Come on, in here," Ginny directs, jolting her out of her thoughts as they reach the change room.

The woman in front of it spares them both a sharp look at the amount of dresses, but it quickly turns to admiration as she recognizes them from the media. She lets them pass easily.

Hermione shakes her head as they approach the room on the far left. "Luna mentioned that the bridesmaid dresses were blue, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Ginny answers. "Thank Merlin it won't clash with my red hair."

"Remind me again why we need another dress," Hermione mutters, "if we already have the one that Luna picked out."

"Stop subtly complaining," Ginny scolds, throwing open the door. She directs Hermione inside, and watches as she drops the pile on the bench. "Once the ceremony's done you'll be changing, okay? Now use that giant brain of yours and remember that."

She eases the door shut, and Hermione glances back at the dresses. She looks through them one by one, and starts to try on the first one, then changes her mind. The activity is tedious and she's not even sure how Ginny dragged her into wasting her Saturday.

Her mind drifts off to the note still in her pocket, and almost automatically, her lips tighten. There is other stuff to attend to, and this time, her excuse isn't just too much work. Draco Malfoy's motives are just as important as dress buying for Luna's wedding, and she's got one more week for the latter.

Shaking her head, Hermione randomly selects a yellow floor length dress, and unlocks the door.

"I'm done," she says. "I'm wearing this one."

Ginny scans it critically, hazel eyes sharp. Then she shakes her head. "You chose this dress as crudely as you choose your boyfriends, Hermione. Go back and reevaluate."

"But-"she starts to protest.

"No buts. Go back and think about it this time."

Hermione obeys, and as she weaves through the pile, she wonders if the phrase is supposed to have dual meaning.

**-:-**

The phone rings just as she's finishing up dinner, and Hermione sighs, looking up from the piles of parchment sitting in front of her. She finishes chewing her last mouthful of Chinese takeout, stands up, and then holds the phone to her ear.

Only several people have her number, but she's not sure what her parents or Harry might want.

"Hello?"

"Hermione, is that you?" Harry sounds almost nervous. "Ron wants to talk."

There is a pause, and she frowns, skeptical and angry at the interruption of her work. The Department of Law Enforcement doesn't take just anyone. "Ron wants to talk?" Hermione questions sharply, organizing her thoughts.

She leans against the wall for the moment.

"Yeah," Harry answers solemnly. "Just wait a moment, I'll give the phone to him."

There is shuffling on the other end, and Hermione yawns as there is a not-so-smooth transition from one person to another. As soon as Ron gets a hold of what is probably Harry's cell phone, he yells a greeting into it. Hermione shakes her head, and sighs.

"You do know that you don't have to scream, right?"

"WHAT? What are you talking about?" Ron bellows out. "This muggle contraption felly-tone thingy doesn't work very well long distance, you know."

Hermione takes a moment to process his words, tightening her lips. "Wait… long distance? Where are you?" There is only silence in answer, and she paces back and forth, quickly coming to a conclusion. "You're not at 12 Grimmauld Place with Harry."

"I…" he blusters at first, then trails off. He takes his time replying after that, obviously abashed at giving details away. "No," Ron confirms finally.

More silence.

"Then where are you?"

He sighs, and Ron seems to make the decision to tell her based on the fact that in won't do any harm. "We're in Albania, on private Ministry business," he says, "It will probably be all over the Prophet by Monday, so there's no need to worry."

"Why are you in Albania?" Hermione demands sharply.

"You'll find out tomorrow."

"Why are you in Albania?" she repeats again, and there is a dangerous edge to her voice this time.

"You'll find out tomorrow," Ron counters, equally stubborn.

"Why-"

He cuts her off, tired of the conversation. "Listen Hermione, I asked Harry to call so that I tell you that I can't make it tomorrow night for the date. I'm not going to tell you what he and I are doing right now, okay?"

"So you can't make it, and you're not going to tell me what your business outside of the country is either?" Hermione snaps, starting to raise her voice so that she reflects Ron's greeting at the beginning of the call. She stares angrily at the painted cream wall, frustration seeping from her emotions into her voice. "I can't believe you!"

"Yeah, well I can't believe you either," Ron bites back.

"You back out on me all the time-"

"You think you're so goddamn smart-"

"You're always busy with work-"

"You only think about yourself-"

They hang up at the same time.

**-:-**

**Thank you so much for all the support! It's all very heartwarming and this is really cheesy, but those favourites, follows and reviews totally make my day. **

**So here I am, dishing out this chapter. Hope y'all like it as much as you liked the prologue. I'm going to try and make Wednesday my update day, but I apologize if I can't get it on time. But anyway, overall, thank you so much, and yeah. **


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, HP isn't mine**

Chapter two

It's late at night on Saturday, already past ten, when she exits the ministry building after a long, irritating meeting. Outside, the air is cold and the sky is a sea of black. The only illumination comes from the pale, yellow glow of the lamps that line the sidewalk and the white light of the waning moon.

It's not nearly enough. Hermione swallows.

Logically, she shouldn't be nervous, but even after all these years, she's still as paranoid as if it were still wartime. Some memories never go away, and some people will never come back. Almost automatically, her fingers tighten around her wand. Hermione takes a deep, calming breath to soothe her nerves.

"Merlin, I hate working late," she says aloud. "Added to the fact that technically, it's supposed to be the weekend, this is ridiculous! I have no idea why those stupid gits are still bringing up Lucius Malfoy's case after months and months. I swear he can bribe people in prison…"

She trails off, and pauses in her footsteps to glance around.

There is movement in the corner of her eye. A flash of blonde, light footsteps, the swoop of a dark cloak interrupts the night. Forgetting her plans to walk to the apparition point, Hermione runs after it.

"Hey!" she calls out. "Wait!"

The shadowy figure doesn't stop, running full speed ahead. His- or her- shoes hit the pavement with a slap, and suddenly, the outline of a person makes a sharp turn toward an alley. The entrance is conveniently illuminated by a lamp, just before the walls veer in and cast shadows over the inside.

Hermione makes the effort to study any uncovered features while there's still light, and gets another glimpse of blonde hair. It's too fast to catch what shade it is, but under the cowl of the cloak, there is also the unnatural shine of a mask. It's not bone white, like the Death Eater style, but a blood red, symbolic in the same way.

Her first thought is that Voldemort is back and has created another terrorist group when the figure turns and salutes her.

"Another time, Hermione Granger, I'll wait another time," he calls, voice is deep and rich, indefinitely masculine.

Then he's gone.

**-:-**

The headlines Monday morning reads _Death Eaters 2.0? _

Hermione's not sure whether to freak out, or get in contact with Ron and Harry immediately when the owl delivers the bundle. She devours the text as quickly as she read her Hogwarts textbooks, and pauses a moment to let the implications sink in. She's baffled, and that's not a good thing.

A minute later, the door flies open.

"Francis, have you read the-"

Immediately, Hermione spins around to the intruding voice and evaluates the scene. It's Draco, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet, hair meticulously in place, but eyes wild. One hand is still in the air after throwing open the door, and it seems that he's in a hurry.

Similarly stunned, Draco studies her back, taking in the desk, and glancing at the golden plaque that says _Hermione J. Granger_ in bold, black letters.

"…You're not Francis."

"No," she says slowly. "I'm not."

They react at the same time.

Draco whips around and starts to bolt, but in the same second, Hermione raises her wand and shouts a panicked, "_Colloportus_!"

The door slams shut first.

The sharp sound echoes throughout the office and they turn to look at each other. Draco's gaze is uncertain. Hermione twists her lips with frustration. She takes the moment to slow her heart rate, and let the tensions simmer down. She's glad that she caught him, because too many questions hang in the air, unanswered.

Finally, "Granger," Draco begins, seemingly calm once more. "Is there a problem?"

He doesn't make a move to open the door again, and so Hermione lowers her wand slowly.

"Yeah, there's a problem." Her voice is acidic, and she can't resist spitting out her next sentence. He's being a bastard, she's just reciprocating. "The problem is your face, Malfoy. It's so goddamn ugly."

Draco arches a pale eyebrow, but Hermione can see the corner of his mouth twitch with irritation. "I wouldn't say that," he drawls easily in response. "Have you looked in a mirror recently?"

"I have," she retorts, "and I'm glad I'm not blonde like you."

Hermione frowns for a second at the word _blonde_ and stares hard at a spot behind Draco's head. The wall is a beige-cream colour that vaguely reminds her of his hair. It also vaguely reminds her of late night chases outside of this very building. Looking down, she catches the headline _Death Eaters 2.0_, thinks of Ron in Albania, and matches it all up to the crimson mask she saw yesterday.

There appears to be some sort of new threat. She's just not sure what it means for her or Wizarding England, she's not sure what it means for Draco. Except, she may be sure of what it means for him- Lucius Malfoy seems pretty certain.

"-I'm not bushy haired like_ you_!" Draco bites back.

Hermione shakes her head and stands up, reaching for a piece of parchment on the way. "Listen, I don't have time for this."

He shoots her an incredulous glance. "You're the one that started it." He opens his mouth to continue the sentence when she marches up to him, and presses the crumpled note into his hand, not too gently.

"What in the world is this?" His eyes narrow at the note, and slowly, he unfolds it. He skims over the greeting and the single line, and gradually, recognition lights his features.

"Well?" Hermione demands. "Care to explain that to me? I want to know exactly what happened on Friday at 2 a.m. and what the bloody hell your problem is."

Draco grimaces. "I think… I think we better talk."

**-:-**

In the end, Hermione accompanies him for a lunch break in Muggle London, in a restaurant of his choice. She's surprised that he chooses a Vietnamese noodle place, but rolls with the punches. Draco finds a table for them in the corner near the window.

Hermione notes that he sits in the seat closer to the door, and wonders if he still wants to bolt. It's too bad for him, because it's not happening. Her wand rests in her sleeve, ready to slip out at moment's notice.

After several minutes of browsing the menu, both of them order. The waitress is a young, well endowed woman, and Hermione notes with mild annoyance that she keeps shooting subtle glances at Draco. He's not even _that _attractive… not with his shirt on.

"So, what is that stupid note supposed to mean?" she starts, eager to start grueling him for answers, and almost just as eager to stop thinking about shirtless Draco sprawled across her couch. Her fingers clench into a fist under the table.

"My penmanship," he says smoothly. "It's much better than yours."

She glares down at the black table. "Stop evading the question, Malfoy. I work with law. I know what you're doing."

Draco's smirk twists his lips. "Do you, Granger?"

"Yes, you bloody bastard. Now answer the question," she snaps, slipping a pair of chopsticks out of paper wrapping. Cautiously, she wraps her fingers around the twin sticks and wonders if she would be arrested for poking out his eyes.

Draco's sigh jolts her out of her thoughts. "It's simple," he says. "I apologize for the intrusion in your flat."

Hermione narrows her eyes and analyzes his words as carefully as she'd once analyzed the Goblin Rebellion. He's apologizing for going there. "Does that mean you regret it?" she questions carefully.

He frowns, as if the thought hasn't yet occurred to him. "I just said I was sorry. That's all."

Her fingers try grasping the chopsticks another way. She bites her lip, and another theory makes its way into her brain. "You were completely smashed. How much do you remember anyway?"

Draco opens his mouth to answer the question, but he's interrupted by the food and the waiter arriving again. A large, steaming bowl of noodles is deposited in front of her, and while it looks delicious, Hermione wants to pick it up and throw it at the waiter's head.

Of course, she does nothing of the sort, and even thanks the woman as she walks away. Then the hips start swaying, and that's when she hurls the chopsticks at her back.

Draco takes no notice of the missile throwing, and doesn't comment as Hermione takes another pair of chopsticks. Clumsily, she uses them to attempt at eating her bowl with a debatable amount of success.

"I meant it."

"Huh?" Her head shoots up.

"I never lied." Draco's staring at a something past her, and she realizes that it's a poster advertising a masquerade ball, with a vividly red mask on it. "I went to see my father, and he mentioned an urgent mission to clean the family name immediately. He also mentioned a group called _Blood Tsunami_."

Hermione furrows her brow. "Isn't that a band?"

He shrugs. "It's also a group of dark wizards, in case you couldn't infer that. And in case you couldn't infer this, they all wear blood red masks."

"Blood red masks?" Uneasily, Hermione remembers blonde hair under the lamplight- _again_- and compares it to the perfect hair in front of her. Maybe Draco's lying, been lying all along. Maybe Voldemort _has _come back with a new terrorist group named after a band, and he's part of it. Maybe everything is some sort of giant conspiracy and there is a New World Order behind the scenes, controlling the government. But if she believes it all, then what can't she believe?

"Yeah," Draco responds, a calm voice interrupting her internal rant. He turns to face her squarely. "And I don't know if you were serious about helping me or not, but I could really use it, you know. This is more than just heeding Father's wishes, Granger. This is catching _Blood Tsunami_. Are you with me?"

There is a long pause, and Hermione slurps up another noodle, then slowly, she nods.

"As long as you pay for my lunch, I am."

**-:-**

**Sorry for being late, but I've been busy, with life and whatnot. **

**So first, I'd like to thank you all for the awesomeness, and I hope this chapter is also satisfactory. Next, I'd like to say that I had the name **_**Blood Tsunami**_** on my mind for a while, and just recently realized that it was also a band. I technically didn't steal the name off of them, but yeah, I guess I should put it out there that it is a band's name. **

**So yeah. **


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

Chapter three

Ron is back from Albania by Wednesday, with no new leads except a huge migraine and a frustrated demeanor. Hermione doesn't meet him at King's Cross, like they'd previously planned. She has a conveniently scheduled meeting with Draco at five, and Ginny is to go to in her place.

So instead of greeting her best friend and boyfriend, she currently sits in Draco Malfoy's office, staring out the window at the London skyline. There is the heavy traffic of rush hour, as workers hasten to go home.

Hermione takes a sip of her tea.

"I still don't understand why you chose me, out of all people," she says, propping her chin up with her elbow on the desk. She sighs, and her hands push away a stack of papers that blocks her view. "You hate me."

Draco frowns and looks over his laptop to meet her eyes. There is a pause for several beats before he opens his mouth, and Hermione frowns. "It is merely a matter of convenience in terms of information that you know and no one else other than me does," he finally responds, silkily.

His voice is glib and smooth, a voice for persuasion. Hermione thinks that if he weren't a highly successful financier, then he'd be a highly successful entrepreneur. It's strange, how they've all turned out. She'd never imagined working as a lawyer.

"I have a guess about that," she begins. "I have a guess on how that information is connected to _Blood Tsunami_, but I'm not certain. I don't see how what you told me on Friday corresponds to the investigation."

Draco shrugs lightly. "Let's hope I don't have to tell you," he says vaguely. His lip twitches slightly after his statement, and Hermione narrows her eyes suspicion. She opens her mouth to protest and demand he give a proper answer when he interrupts her with a claim that they should review the information they have so far.

"This is more important," he says. "We should go over it again."

Hermione shoots him a searching look that Draco ignores.

Instead, he looks down to evaluate the typed document open on the laptop, and then reads it aloud. "_Blood Tsunami _is a small group of dark wizards that seek an unknown object. They have been spotted in Albania before, and we also know that membership is only granted to certain witches and wizards." There is a pause. "These members all wear hooded cloaks and have red masks that resemble the former Death Eater design."

Sighing, Hermione concedes to the topic. She analyzes the given information with pursed lips. "They must be related in some way to the Death Eaters," she says slowly. "Perhaps some of the former members are part of the new group?"

She thinks of the blonde figure under lamplight, and matches it up to the profile sitting across from her. They're similar, a little too similar. It's all kind of suspicious.

"Maybe a former member founded the group," Draco suggests. "Also, the Dark Lord was in Albania before he regained his body. That might have a connection."

Hermione raises her teacup, and brings it to her lips. The liquid inside is now only lukewarm, but it doesn't deter her from draining the cup. Draco was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe _he's _the former member that founded the group. Maybe he wants her with him to throw off her suspicions. Maybe she's here as part of his grand plans.

Hermione blanches, thinking of divisions that shouldn't be forgotten. "Show me your arm," she says suddenly.

Draco shoots her a confused look, and offers his right wrist around the laptop. His skin is pale and smooth against the mahogany desk. Hermione pins him with a stony stare.

"Other arm," she deadpans.

A brief flash of consternation flickers in his eyes, but he obeys the order. Slowly, his appendage stretches toward her, and Hermione pushes up his sleeve. His skin is cold to the touch, and with humour, she thinks that he could've been a vampire. Then the humour disappears as she turns his arm to reveal the tattoo on his inner forearm.

It's faded by now, only a gray blemish on the otherwise pristine skin, but it's a symbolic blemish. _I was a Death Eater once_, it says. _I hate muggle-borns. I hate people like you._

Hermione lets go of his arm abruptly. She stands up, and pushes in her chair. "I just remembered," she says suddenly, hastily. "I'm supposed to go to the Burrow for dinner. We should continue this some other time."

Her last words are a mumbled mess, but it doesn't matter as she staggers toward the door. Maybe it's irrational, but she doesn't care. The only thing that matters right now is getting out. She might have forgot for a moment who they are, but it's okay now and she'll get back on track.

"Granger, what-"

"I'm sorry. Malfoy, I can't-"

Suddenly, the door flies open, nearly hitting Hermione in the nose.

"Hey, Draco-" a voice begins.

It trails off, as soon as the owner of it enters the room, and looks around. Draco blinks hard and Hermione stumbles back from the door. They both stare at the third, unknowing occupant of the office, putting their own issues on pause for the moment.

"Francis," Draco greets, voice strained. "What are you doing here?"

The man shrugs nonchalantly, a smile playing on his lips. Hermione studies him, filing his appearance away for future reference. Francis is the kind of guy that might appear on the cover of a magazine, she notes. He's tall, well-built and blonde, with straight white teeth and slanted eyebrows.

"I just wanted to pay you a visit," he answers innocently in response. "After all, brothers should look after each other, no?"

"What?" Hermione chokes out. "Malfoy's an only child!"

Francis nods gravely and Draco sputters from behind his desk. "I know," the former says. "We're not truly blood brothers. I simply delight in referring to our relationship as such since Draco finds it demeaning."

"Bloody right it's demeaning," Draco snaps, finally finding his voice. His lips twist with displeasure, and his eyes narrow. "And I happen to be having a meeting with someone. I'd appreciate if you'd knock next time."

"Oh?" Francis' perfectly slanted eyebrows rise slightly. "From what I saw, it was already finishing." He turns to Hermione and nods slightly. "Ms. Granger, pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I'm afraid that Draco and I have important matters to discuss. It would be excellent if you were to continue this impromptu conference some other time."

"I…" Hermione frowns. "I was just leaving. I'll go. Pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Mr.…?"

Francis smiles mysteriously. "Just call me Francis," he says. Then he pushes her out of the office and slams the door in her face.

Charming.

**-:-**

"Hermione," Mrs. Weasley says, smiling. "This is a surprise. We haven't had you over in a while."

"Yeah," she answers, almost awkwardly. "I guess I've just been busy lately."

"Of course, don't worry about it."

"Thank you."

On some level, Mrs. Weasley probably senses her reticence, and doesn't make any further comments as Hermione joins Ginny at the dinner table. As soon as she sits down, the other girl immediately shoots her a sharp look from narrowed brown eyes. It's a look that promises an explanation after dinner. Still, Hermione thinks, somewhat bitterly, Ginny isn't the only one that wants to demand an explanation. Lavender Brown's unwanted presence at the table inspires some really interesting questions. It's probably not really healthy that she itches to grab her spoon, jump across the table, and gouge the stupid, blonde bint's stupid eyes out.

She winces. Maybe that last one's a little too violent.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry says from across the table. "How has work been?"

It's obvious that he's trying to draw her in a conversation, and she wonders if her desire to maul Lavender is that obvious.

"Fine," Hermione answers. "The only thing is that the incompetents I'm working with are still bringing up Lucius Malfoy's case. It's ridiculous."

Harry makes a face around his potatoes. "It's those stuffy old Heads of House being stupid as usual. The ministry's gotten better under Kingsley, but some things are just incurable."

"I agree." There is a brief pause, and Harry swallows his potatoes. Hermione pokes at the food on her plate. It looks delicious, but she's not really hungry. A quick glance to Harry's left reveals Ron and Lavender whispering to each other, and Mrs. Weasley smiling at them fondly. Her desire to eat drops several notches, and she makes the effort to start another conversation.

"Listen," Hermione begins, "about that trip to Albania. What were you looking for?"

Harry looks distinctively uncomfortable, and the change in discussion is enough to bring Mr. Weasley into the conversation.

"About Albania," Mr. Weasley says, frowning. "Does it have anything to do with the newspapers on those Death Eaters?" he questions. "You-Know-Who's been gone for a long time now, _properly gone_, so I doubt he could form another group. But the _Prophet_ sounded pretty serious about what they said."

"Voldemort's dead," Harry declares. "This problem has to do with something else, another order."

Hermione bites her lip. "It's _Blood Tsunami_, isn't it."

It's not a question, and Harry hears it in her tone. The atmosphere is suddenly tense, and Hermione watches as Harry takes a sharp breath, and then breathes out slowly. His eyes- Lily Evans' eyes- are hard. Emotions swim like fish in the green depths.

In the end, it's Mr. Weasley that speaks first.

"Who told you, Hermione? It wasn't in the newspaper, I know."

"I…" she falters. "Someone in the auror department let me know."

The lie spills out of her mouth a fraction too fast, but neither man notices. Harry catches the part where she mentions an auror, and Mr. Weasley is fixated on the fact that she even knows the name of the organization. Hermione lets out a small sigh of relief or guilt- she doesn't know.

Harry scowls. "It's supposed to be confidential information. Who told you?"

"Um," Hermione mutters. "I don't remember. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm sure he meant no harm."

Harry opens his mouth to argue again, but she shoots him a sharp look that would probably stop a dementor in its tracks.

"Okay," he agrees reluctantly. "I'll stop asking."

"You do that," Hermione says, and looks back down at her plate. Sighing, she crams a piece of broccoli into her mouth, and slowly finishes up her dinner. It doesn't help that Lavender is giggling the whole time.

**-:-**

"So?" Ginny questions as soon as they're safely in her former bedroom. She raises an eyebrow. "Spill, 'Mione. What's so important that you had to miss picking up Harry and Ron? It wasn't a date, was it? I mean, Ron's crappy, but I'd rather you didn't cheat on my brother."

Hermione blinks once, then twice. "…What the hell?"

"Well?" Ginny prompts. She crosses her arms. "Was it a date?"

Hermione takes out her wand. "_Muffliato_," she bites out, and then purses her lips as the spell takes effect. She waits a few beats before responding. "It wasn't a date. It was a meeting for work."

"Oh." Ginny deflates, and looks disappointed and relieved at the same time.

Hermione feels guilty and relieved at the same time. It's another lie, and an hour hasn't even passed. Technically, she's only being vague, but it doesn't lessen the sense of immorality and being a bad friend. Ginny isn't out to harm anyone, but somehow, Hermione feels compelled to keep the investigation with Draco to herself.

"So, Luna's wedding is soon," she begins awkwardly, with a pathetic attempt to salvage the conversation and redirect the topic. "She's deciding between lilies and petunias, didn't you say? My suggestion is that she uses lilies."

Ginny plops down onto the bed and pats the empty spot beside her. As she waits for Hermione to join her, her fingers tap on the white duvet. Her brown eyes skim over the furniture in the room, and then change direction to stare at the pale lavender walls.

"You don't really want to talk about Luna's wedding, do you?" she questions slowly. "We've gone over what flowers there are going to be a thousand times, and the colours were chosen three months ago. The bridesmaid dresses Luna handpicked and we only put off getting the other dresses for last Saturday since you refused to go. That's not what you're concerned about." There is a brief pause. "Now tell me what the issue is here," Ginny demands.

Hermione shrugs guiltily, her thoughts flipping to blonde hair, a ridiculous smirk and a drunken slur. Is it weird that she likes talking to Draco when he's intoxicated? She shakes away the thoughts, and conjures up a passable reply. "I would, but-"

Ginny scoffs. "We're not talking about war intelligence here. We're talking about Lavender Brown. Get back on your feet, you idiot! I'm sure you're Gryffindor enough to march up to her and tell her to bugger off and leave Ron alone." As Hermione opens up her mouth to protest, Ginny shakes her head. "I saw how you were eyeing her at dinner, okay? Now suck it up, and be a man. Go punch her."

Hermione lets an amused smile curve up her lips. "Your pep talks were always the best. Harry was so preoccupied with his demons that his always turned out unenthusiastic. Ron never believed in himself."

"You know it, girl," Ginny winks. "Now get back on your feet, and fight back."

Hermione nods firmly, but instead of thinking about her love life, dark wizards occupy the majority of her thoughts. Ginny has said all that needs to be said aloud. _Blood Tsunami_ isn't going to win without a fight.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine**

Chapter four

"It's going to be fabulous on Sunday," Hermione notes, smiling. She pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders and slips her purse higher up on her arm. "The rehearsal today went well," she adds.

Luna nods in agreement, serene as always, silver eyes bright. "I can't wait," she pronounces. "N-Rolf is going to look fabulous."

Hermione nods absently in distracted agreement, ignoring the slip on her friend's future husband's name. She waves to Luna in effort to bid the other girl goodbye, and smiles wanly. Then she pushes open the doors, and makes her way out of the hall and into the night air. It's dark and sort of cold outside, with a sharp, unforgiving wind that nips at her face.

"Wonderful," she murmurs to herself.

Hermione sighs and déjà vu echoes in her head. She half expects to see a red mask and blonde hair any moment now, which probably isn't healthy at all. She takes several cautious steps forward, almost as if to assess the night. It doesn't past the test, especially as a pale head of hair makes itself known about three metres ahead of her. Quickening her footsteps, she moves forward, lips tight. At least it isn't a surprise this time. Her fingers grasp at her wand.

"_Lumos_," she bites out.

The figure in front of her whips around and the light illuminates his pale, sharp features. There is surprise that flickers on his face, then his eyes narrow for sharp distaste. "Granger," is his cold greeting. Her name rolls casually off his tongue.

Hermione recognizes the voice. "Malfoy," she returns tensely, not bothering to conceal the measure of contempt she has for him. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" he repeats. A hint of amusement colours his tone. "I don't know. What _am _I doing here?"

"You slimy bastard," Hermione seethes, mood plummeting from happiness for her friend to frustration and anger at the stupid git standing in front of her. It's almost illogical how quick the directions of her thoughts change, but the recent events have stretched her patience. _Blood Tsunami _and work takes up most of her waking hours, and there's barely any free time left. If there is, then it's spent on pining over Ron and staring at her wall, trying to get the courage to apparate to the flat that he and Harry share.

"Yes, I believe I am a bastard," Draco murmurs in reply, sounding a fraction too pleased with himself. "It's a Slytherin trait, no? Though skirting around questions might have some Ravenclaw origins. Astoria would be so proud." The last part is said with a cynical, sarcastic drawl.

Hermione grits her teeth at his working attempts at pushing her buttons. "Are you asking for a duel?" she snaps. "If so, then it would be my pleasure to hand you your arse on a silver platter after I chop it up into a million pieces."

A flicker of something passes through his silver eyes, but it's gone in an instant. "Always so quick to fight, you Gryffindors," Draco almost purrs. "Just what has stretched your nerves so taut, hmm Granger?"

Hermione ignores the taunt. She sees the opportunity to turn the conversation around and seizes it. "I won't answer your question, Malfoy," she insists, "until you answer mine. In fact, I'll even repeat it for you. _What are you doing here?_"

There is a pause.

Then Draco smiles morosely, and his shoulders shift just the slightest, with the mood. "I'll give you a hint," he says. "I was on someone's tail until you interrupted me. It's someone my mother doesn't quite approve of." His expression turns wry as _mother_ slips out of his mouth,

Hermione narrows her eyes, and frowns. Assuming Draco isn't lying, he's following someone, someone that his mother wouldn't like. So is he following a criminal? Is it someone she knows? Her blood chills. What if it's a member of _Blood Tsunami_? What if he _is _lying and _he's _the member of _Blood Tsunami_?

"What-"She opens her mouth to say something, to narrow down the possibilities. But before a sound can escape her lips, Draco's wand is already up. "Hey! I-"

Her wand is up a second later in defense, but it turns out she doesn't need it. Because instead of flicking his wand fluidly, it stays steady as he vanishes in a vortex of motion. Apparation, she identifies. Hermione lets out a hiss of frustration at his untimely escape, and wonders what it is with strange blondes disappearing on her after a late night event.

"Bloody Malfoy," she mutters to no one particular. "The minute you think he might actually be collaborating, he comes in and ruins it with a load of rubbish."

**-:-**

The scene in the Ministry's atrium can appropriately be summed up with three words: what, the and hell, Hermione thinks, as soon as she walks in and joins the crowd gathered around the spectacle.

There's nothing wrong with the décor. In fact, she finds the peacock blue ceiling tastefully selected and the glossy, dark floors a measure of elegance. The fireplaces on the side are lined up carefully and on opposite walls, with warm, orange-red flames flickering within.

The ambience is pleasant- if you ignore the wall on the furthest side, which is a completely different story.

It's stained red, from paint or blood, she doesn't want to know. A crowd of wizards are depicted on the simulacrum of a plaque, engulfed in a wave of blood. In red scrawl, near the top, there is an imitation of a child's vandalism, and it boasts _Blood Tsunami waz here_.It's rather symbolic: disturbing, but symbolic, and the worker from the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts that is sprawled across the floor completes the picture.

There's nothing like a pasty-looking corpse to give something a little more character.

Hermione swallows at the sight, suddenly feeling the bile in her throat. The thoughtless killing of a civilian is what _Blood Tsunami _engages in. Suddenly, she's more eager to sit back in Draco's office and catch the bastards that are part of the new cult.

He can be a bastard all he wants, but she knows his cause is just, if his motives aren't.

"Morbid." someone comments from behind her among crowd of witches and wizards standing around the scene, equally shocked and horrified.

Hermione whips around immediately, hand on her wand, but then relaxes as she recognizes one of the trainee aurors under Harry. "It's purposely done this way," she responds, lips twisted with something halfway in between disgust and thoughtful analysis. "They want attention."

The trainee auror- Hermione doesn't quite remember his name- frowns. "What do they want so badly to try and get the Ministry's notice, and especially through this way?" he questions rhetorically, his voice filled with the underlining of frustration. "Who are they anyway? I remember the article in the Prophet, but it tells us nothing about what _Blood Tsunami_ is and what they do."

Hermione bites her lip. "Look more closely," she says, answering anyway, directing her eyes away from the body lying under _Blood Tsunami_'s work. "There is a title for this in the bottom left corner of the plaque. It seems to be directed at Wizarding Britain."

The trainee narrows his eyes uneasily, and spares a glance at the indicated place. Slowly, he drifts closer, pushing his way through the crowd. As soon as he gets close enough to discern the words, he reads aloud, "Reform, by _Blood Tsunami_."

"Reform," Hermione agrees, and pauses a moment to explain her thoughts on the single word, but someone beats her to it.

"Yes, reform," someone's- male- voice blares over the crowd gathered around, with the obvious aid of a spell. "Blood Tsunami wants reform of the government. Remember the story in the newspaper about them? This is what they can do. They've killed a man from one of our departments, and as this plaque shows, they aren't afraid to do more. Are we going to let them keep going?"

The response is almost immediate.

"Hell no!"

"They're nothing we can't handle."

"We don't need reform!" are among the various yelled responses to the question.

Hermione blinks in surprise at the interruption, trying to push forward and find the identity of the speaker. His interruption is awfully convenient. And as well, his voice sounds sort of familiar, like she's maybe met him before. Unfortunately, it seems like everyone else has the same thoughts of finding out who's there, as they push forward to overwhelm the man at the center of the crowd.

She presses her lips together, and lets the crowd wave past her. Turning around, Hermione starts to make her way to an apparition point. She doubts she'll be able to work today.

Then suddenly, her mind drifts back to the Ministry worker still sprawled across the floor, and winces. She thinks of a devastated family, pale, disbelieving faces and mournful black clothing. That worker, whoever he was, doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to die. Hermione isn't naïve enough to believe that she can do something about it, but…

Carefully, she picks her way toward the discarded body and conjures up a bouquet of flowers. She lays them on the corpse gently, and murmurs a prayer.

A minute later, Hermione stands up, ready to head back to her flat when someone grabs her arm.

"We need to talk."

**-:-**

**Sorry for not updating. I've been pretty busy, and I've only had time to get this half-assed chapter out. Anyway, I was just thinking that this story is really slow, and I was wondering if I should get over Luna's wedding then speed it up a lot. It'd be great to have other opinions on that, if possible. Thank you all for reading.**


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